


Heaven Smells Like Hell

by lordelannette



Series: Dark Steve Rogers Fics [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Sees Dead People, Bucky is 17, Dark Steve Rogers, Ghost Steve Rogers, Horror, Jealous Steve Rogers, M/M, Medication, Medium Bucky, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Question of Insanity, steve is 17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2020-12-28 04:47:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21130892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordelannette/pseuds/lordelannette
Summary: Steve Rogers died in 1918, cold and alone.Bucky Barnes moved in in 2019. He meets a friend.





	Heaven Smells Like Hell

Bucky walked through the empty hall, eyes roaming over the paint and aged furnishing of the place. It was old, massively outdated compared to their old house in Brooklyn, but Bucky could see what his parents saw in it; it had character. He was reluctant to admit that he liked the place despite its obvious flaws, but as he continued walking up the steps onto the second floor, he could see that it was quickly growing on him. They'd been in such a rush to move that Bucky hadn't been given time to come to terms with it. Therefore, allowing disdain to already bloom in his heart.

They'd been so desperate to get out of that town, away from the accusing eyes and biased newspaper articles that they had purchased the first house they could find that was more than a few states over. Bucky knew that his parents didn't blame her, at least not consciously, but he wasn't stupid. He saw the looks they threw his way when they thought he wasn't paying attention. He often woke up to the sound of their hushed whispers in the middle of the night as they fought about what to do with their "crazy son".

"Perhaps I am crazy," he mumbled to himself as he walked down the hall, his duffle bag heavy in his hand. 

It was a thought that had crossed his mind often, and he was at a point where he was beginning to believe it himself. Normal people didn't  _ see  _ things like he did. Normal people didn't interact with " _ things that weren't there _ " like he did. Bucky wasn't normal, and if he wasn't normal, then he was crazy. There was no other way around it. 

Bucky entered an empty bedroom with a sigh, glancing around the spacious area before dropping his bag onto the bed. It was a round room near the back of the house with a window diagonally across from the bed that overlooked the front yard. There was another behind the bed that gave him a view of the back yard. It seemed… therapeutic, so of course his parents picked this room for him. Bucky sat down and barely had the chance to take a deep breath before his mom walked in.

"I think with a little paint and care, this place could really be something," she said, trying to lighten the mood. Trying to pretend this move was something they all wanted. 

"Yeah," Bucky halfheartedly agreed with a small smile. If they wanted to pretend, then so could he. 

The older woman suddenly sighed before stepping further into the room, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I know that it was a rather abrupt change. I realize that we didn't give you much time to-."

"It's alright, mom. Really… I understand," he interrupted, beginning to unpack his bag. He wasn’t looking at her, trying to distract himself by pulling out his clothes, but he could feel her eyes on him, watching him so closely that the hair on the back of his neck stood up. 

There was a brief, tense silence, one that Bucky just wanted to be over.

"You've been taking your medicine?"

There is was. So that’s why she really came all the way up into his corner of the world. 

"Yes, mom," Bucky sighed. The weight of the pill bottle felt like a rock in his jacket pocket. There was no way of ignoring them, not when they weighed him down with every step he took, shaking and reminding him to  _ take your medicine, take your medicine, take your medicine. _

His mother reached out to gently pat Bucky’s head, running her hand over his hair that he inherited from her-- soft and brown and resting just under his jaw. 

"Good. Do you want your favorite for dinner tonight?"

Bucky perked up just a bit, smiling. At least  _ she  _ was trying when his dad--

"That'd be great,” he answered. 

His mom flashed a smile, one that seemed genuine for the first time in weeks, and he watched as his mom spun around to leave, pulling the door closed behind her. Bucky frowned, however, when seconds later, the door slowly swung back open. 

* * *

"From my cousins house, it’s only a thirty minute drive, Bucky. When we take the trip to visit them, it’ll be no problem."

Bucky leaned against the door, overlooking the front yard as a small breeze passed by, blowing his hair with it.

"I don't know, Brock. My parents and that therapist said that I should take some time to myself. They think that my spending too much time with you guys contributed to the… _ delusions _ ," he spat the word out like it was vile.

Bucky heard Brock sigh over the phone, and his heart clenched.

"You know that I believe you, right? That all of us did? We always have…"

"Maybe you shouldn't have. There's no such thing as ghosts and spirits and… They were right. You guys were feeding into, and-."

"Bucky, all of us were there. We all saw what was happening," he argued.

"A  _ shared  _ hallucination!"

"That's a load of crap, and you know it!"

"Brock, I am in an entirely different state, now. I'm in some unfamiliar place with people that I don't know. My entire life was uprooted because of this, because everyone back home thinks I'm some mental psychotic!"

He took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down.

"I can't afford to believe any of this, anymore. Fortunately, I was never officially charged with anything, but… What if I had been? I want to graduate high school with good grades, and go to a great college that can help me get away from all of this."

"You're brilliant, Bucky Barnes, the smartest person I know…"

Brock’s words had fallen to the background as Bucky spun around with wide eyes. He'd heard a crash from inside, and neither one of his parents were home. He opened the door, phone still pressed to his ear as he peered inside. Whatever Brock was saying was no more than a buzz, now. His heart loudly thumped beneath his chest, a horrible sense of Deja-vu falling over him as he craned his neck. Nothing looked out of the ordinary…

Bucky suddenly gasped, stumbling back as a shadow passed over the hallway. With a mumbled excuse to Brock, he hung up the phone, immediately dialing the police.

It was barely ten minutes later when two police cars were in his front yard, four men inside checking out the property. Bucky stood at the end of his driveway, arms pulled tightly around his abdomen as he paced back and forth, never once taking his eyes off the house. Bucky had called his mom as well, breathing a sigh of relief when her car pulled into the driveway. Bucky’s relief was short-lived when his father's car appeared only seconds later.

"What happened?" her mum questioned as she ran up to him, car door still open.

"I saw someone in the house," Bucky frantically answered but the sound of his dad’s door slamming shut made him flinch. 

His mother gasped and took his hand to get closer to the house. When they reached the front steps, Bucky planted his feet firmly against the concrete, refusing to get any closer, but his effort was short lived when his dad clamped a large hand around Bucky’s upper arm and yanked him up. His mother peered through the open doorway but his dad… his dad was looking straight at him, that frown on his face and those eyes so full of disbelief. 

It hurt. But like everything for the past month, he was starting to get used to it. His father never had any understanding, never even tried to pretend, and had wanted to send Bucky away as soon as possible. Fortunately for Bucky, his mom wasn't having it.

"Are you sure?" his mom questioned, turning her head to look at him carefully.

"Yes," he practically sneered. He knows what he saw. He wasn’t  _ fucking crazy _ ! 

Bucky was forced to eat his words when, only a few moments later, the police informed them that the property was clean. Nothing unusual. No sign of forced entry. It was as if they walked into a perfectly normal house. 

"I know what I saw,” he quickly turned to his parents, trying to argue his point even though he was more than aware of the looks the cops were giving him, like he was a loon they needed to be precautious about. “I was right  _ here _ , on the phone-."

"With that Rumlow kid?" his father interrupted, his voice hard. 

Bucky opened his mouth, eventually snapping it shut under his father's stern gaze. George Barnes looked away from him with so much dismissal that it  _ stung _ , making something cold wash over Bucky’s body as his dad turned his attention towards the police.

"I apologize. My son has a history of…"

Bucky frowned, a scoff escaping his lips as his dad’s words faded away. He wrapped his arms around himself, tensing up when his mom’s hand found his shoulder.

"You told me that you've been taking your medication," her mother gently scolded.

"I am!" Bucky spun around, looking at the older woman with wide eyes. "I  _ know  _ what I saw, mom. There was someone in the house. I heard a crash, and then-."

"The police said that they didn't see anything out of the ordinary," his father interrupted yet again, approaching them.

"That's a lie," Bucky whispered. He could begin to feel the tears build up in his eyes but he  _ refused  _ to let his parents see. He wasn’t crazy. He hadn’t imagined it. He heard the crash. He had seen the shadow. 

But Bucky didn’t repeat himself again, knowing that it would just lead to a worse fight than it already was. Because even though he wasn’t talking, he knew they weren’t just going to brush this under the rug. This wasn’t something they were going to ignore. 

Bucky was right. Thirty minutes later, they were all in the living room, his mother sitting on the couch with her head in her hands while Bucky and his father went back and forth.

"No! I've been taking my medication. I'm not crazy-!"

"Evidently you haven't, because-!"

"There was someone in this house," he harshly said.

"…and I don't  _ believe  _ you. Bucky, you need help," his dad fired back. 

Bucky looked away, clenching his jaw as he resisted saying something that he knew he would regret. His dad didn't believe him, and Bucky could see that everything was beginning to wear on his mother. It wouldn't be long before she took his father's side in all of this too, and then Bucky would be shipped away to some fancy hospital made up to look like a camp for the rich and snooty. They would dissect him, tear his brain apart, make him take those meds that make his brain funny.

His dad suddenly sighed. "I know that the last time we discussed this you-."

"No, absolutely not," Bucky interrupted, on the verge of tears.

"You need help, Bucky. Help that your mom and I can't provide for you, at least not here."

Bucky brushed past him, ignoring the calls of his parents as he ran upstairs, forcing his legs to take him away.

He hadn't lied.

He was taking his medication daily, just like he'd been instructed to. If he was crazy, then it should have been working. If that was the case, then that meant that there really was someone in the house earlier. It was a big house, so it was plausible, but his parents didn't see it that way. They would rather write him off as mental, and Bucky knew that it was only a matter of time before he was dragged away and locked in some facility.

And then, from there it would only be a matter of time until the actually  _ did  _ make him one of the crazies. 

* * *

The weeks that followed didn't ease Bucky’s worries in the slightest. Like that first day, Bucky had seen all sorts of things that he repeatedly had written off as a trick of the light or lack of sleep. Fortunately, it was never anything as concrete as that crash he'd heard that day. He continued to put every little occurrence to the back of his mind, refusing to give his parents any more reason to doubt him.

However, that was much easier said than done. It took everything in him to resist asking one of them if they'd seen something of his that mysteriously went missing. One day, it was a left shoe, then his copy of the house key, then one of his airpods. He kept convincing himself that he simply misplaced them, and that they would turn up sooner or later. Without fail, they always did. Only, it was always in a place that he'd least expect.

He had found his left shoe in the laundry room, resting on the shelf above the washer and dryer. His house key had been discovered lying in the flower pot outside, resting comfortably on the dirt. His mom was the one who'd discovered his airpod underneath a mug in the kitchen cabinet. Despite all of this, Bucky continued to lie to himself and say that he merely misplaced them, despite the nagging voice in his head that said otherwise.

He’d only told his friends about his fears, confessing to them over the phone of how afraid he was that it was starting again. Nat had told him to toss the medication, stating that if there was nothing wrong with him, and yet he continued taking them, wouldn't it do more harm than good? Bucky wasn't sure of that. By all means, the medication should have been working, and if it wasn't, did that mean that he was never crazy? If that were the case, then that meant… Bucky had shaken the thought away, refusing to even entertain that notion.

The day that changed everything, Bucky was alone. A normal occurrence, something he had reluctantly grown used to no matter how much he disliked it. He had been in his room, redecorating, and for once, almost at peace. He was standing on his bed, hanging up a picture when he noticed a figure walking past his cracked open door out of the corner of his eye. His eyes had widened, the picture frame falling out of her hands, bouncing off of the bed and landing on the floor with a loud crack.

Bucky hesitantly stepped down, avoiding the glass as he approached the door. He peaked around it, reaching out to slowly pull it back as he looked down the hall. He just barely missed the figure making their way down the stairs, and Bucky’s heart jumped into his throat. He stumbled back, turning to reach for his phone when he paused.

He remembered the last time he’d called the police, the annoyance on their faces as they had found the house empty of any intruder. He recalled his mother's increasing doubt, and the horrible fight he'd had with his father. No one had believed him then, so why would they now? Bucky reached out, swiping the lamp off of his nightstand, and made his way out of his room. He took the stairs two at a time, barely pausing long enough to get a good look at the intruder before tossing the lamp at the back of his head.

His eyes widened to a comical size, heart stuttering when it flew straight through him, shattering against the floor into pieces. Bucky stumbled back, knocking into the table behind him. He reached behind him, grabbing the vase and swinging it just as the intruder turned around, but again, it passed right through him. 

In horror, Bucky dropped the vase, paying it no mind as it rolled along the floor. It was happening again…

"You're not crazy, Bucky...," a silky smooth voice informed him.

Bucky slid along the wall, away from the intruder as his eerie blue eyes followed Bucky from across the room. Bucky turned and ran, flinging the front door open and sprinting outside. Bucky spun around to face him just as he stopped in the doorway, hands resting on the wall as he looked outside, a sigh escaping him.

Bucky had to be seeing things again. That was the only explanation for it.

"You're not seeing things. You never were," he spoke again.

"This can't be happening," Bucky whispered with a shake of his head.

Before any more words could be uttered, the sound of a car pulling into the driveway captured his attention. Bucky looked over his shoulder, watching as his father stepped out of the car with a bag of groceries.

"What are you doing outside, Bucky?" he asked.

For once, there were no accusations in his tone, only genuine curiosity. Bucky fought to think of an excuse.

"I was…looking at the plant," he gestured to his left. "I wanted to see if it needed any more water."

George hummed, fingering the plant before walking inside, walking right through Bucky’s problem. His father suddenly shivered, glancing over his shoulder at him.

"We should probably get that heater checked," he said, but Bucky wasn't paying attention to him.

No, instead, Bucky was too busy looking at the blond boy who had taken to following his father into the kitchen. Bucky followed along with wide eyes, watching as the blond pushed the table aside just as his father went to set the groceries down. They landed on the floor in a heap, and his father cursed.

"Oh, shit..."

Bucky wasn't listening as his dad went on about lack of sleep and long days at the office. Bucky had seen what happened as clear as day, and any doubt he had was erased as the boy before him threw him a devilish smirk.

"Want to give me a hand?"

Bucky blinked, eyes resting on his father with parted lips.

"Um…yeah. Yeah, sure," he replied, slowly walking past his new friend as he bent down to grab the groceries.

* * *

Later that night, Bucky stood by the window, arms wrapped around himself as the rain poured down outside. The rest of the evening had been lived on autopilot. He hadn't seen  _ him  _ again since before dinner was being made, and part of Bucky still doubted what he had seen exactly. He thought about calling his friends, perhaps even Brock, but decided against it. He looked down at the bottle of prescriptions in his hand with a grimace.

So he wasn't crazy, after all… Bucky decided right then that this new revelation terrified him more than anything. That meant that everything that had happened in the past year had been real. Every nightmare, every terrifying face and clawed hand that had been reaching out to grab him… It had all been real. With a heavy sigh, Bucky made his way towards the bathroom, flushing the pills with ease before hiding the empty bottle underneath the sink.

Bucky’s train of thought came to an end as he made his way back to his room.

_ He  _ was there, standing by Bucky’s window, the low lighting of the lamp illuminating his features. He was tall, taller than Bucky’s father and himself, but still young looking with blond hair resting atop his head. He was on the larger side, built like a tank yet slim at the waist, and radiated more power than Bucky had ever experienced before. Size alone would have been enough for Bucky to go running but those eyes… blue and glowing were trained on Bucky and they were  _ soft _ . Gentle. Inviting. 

Slowly, Bucky approached him. The last time Bucky had encountered one of these things, it had tried to slit his throat. Bucky halted all movement when  _ he  _ took a step toward him. It was just one step but the motion made the breathe whoosh out of Bucky’s lungs, freezing him in his spot. 

Neither one of them said a word. Truth be told, Bucky didn't know what to say. Ghosts were real, and there was one standing right in front of him.

_ He  _ suddenly smiled, the corners of his mouth lifting just the slightest as he leaned his shoulder against the wall, crossing his thick arms over his chest and tilting his head to the side.

"I'm Steve Rogers."

* * *

Turns out, Steve Rogers had died in 1918, cold and lonely as the sickness had spread through his body faster than the doctors could heal him. He had been seventeen, just two months shy of his eighteenth birthday, an orphan of two parents that had died years back. When Steve had gotten sick, he had gotten it bad, and even though his body was strong, he had suffered from asthma. Once his lungs got infected there wasn’t any hope of bouncing back and days later, he had passed. Alone. In this house. 

Steve didn't remember much, especially the specific details about his death, but he remembered feeling scared since he was alone. Steve recalled the love he felt for his mother, and the seed of remorse towards his father whom he had no recollection of. He did remember that he was his family's sole heir, already in preparation to take over whatever it was that his parents had left him. Steve was also a smart boy, haunting the house for over a century, and acquiring all sorts of knowledge about the rapidly changing world around him. He had a silver tongue, and a morbid sense of humor, hence why he'd hidden Bucky’s things. The longer spirits linger, the stronger they grow, and the more attached they become, Steve had told him. And yet…

"You can't leave the house…," Bucky had said one night. 

"No, and believe me I've tried. Who wants to be trapped in the place where they died forever?"

Bucky frowned, looking out of his window from where he sat on the bed, Steve sitting right beside him. It was very…sad. Bucky often thought about what Steve must have gone through during his last days. The pain, the fear. He didn't want to imagine how awful Steve must have felt during his last hours, only to spend a century roaming the halls of the same house he'd died in.

"Don't look so blue,” Steve quipped, using one of his hands to ghost his senseless touch on Bucky’s chin. The lack of sensation only made Bucky shiver. Steve pulled back and leaned against the headboard, pulling his eyes away. “I've long made my peace with it.”

"I suppose," Bucky whispered. "I'm still so relieved to know that I'm not crazy."

There was a long silence before Steve eventually spoke.

"That's why I revealed myself to you, Bucky..."

Bucky turned his head towards him, looking at Steve with a frown, confusion swimming along his features. Steve shuffled as if to get his body closer to Bucky’s but when his knee cap blended into Bucky’s, his body deflated as he sighed. 

"I saw you and your family fighting that day. The day I… I didn't mean to break the lamp, I still don't know what came over me, but I hadn't expected you to see me when I was trying to clean up the mess. No one had ever seen me before…"

A troubled look crossed Steve’s handsome face.

"I heard them talking about sending you away, and a few nights after that one too," he sadly told Bucky.

Bucky looked down, already suspecting this.

"I knew that there wasn't anything wrong with you, and I didn't think it was fair. I figured that it was only a matter of time before you really believed it yourself, and those pills," Steve scoffed. "God, those pills."

"I flushed them," Bucky murmured.

Steve nodded. “I know. I saw. And it’s a good thing too. The way they treat you, like you're some sort of unhinged animal… It's disgusting," he spat, lip curling over his teeth.

"They're only worried,” Bucky began, playing with the hem of his sleeve. He knows, deep down that his parents love him, and that even when they make him hurt, he knows that they’re only doing what they think is best for him. Steve, on the other hand, doesn’t. “I…I set fire to a friend's house. It wasn't intentional," he continued to explain. Bucky bit into his lip, not meeting Steve’s eyes because of how awful it sounded. 

He had never told the story aloud before, the real story, anyway. Everyone back home thought that he was some psychopath with a pyro kink or something. They'd latched onto him like it was a witch hunt, putting out article after article until there was too much vandalism over his house to even attempt to clean off. It had been…horrible, to say the least.

"His house was haunted. Clint had come to us, telling all of us about everything that had happened in the house so far. At first, we didn't take it too seriously. It was an old house, and old houses make noise. Everyone knows that…"

Bucky sighed.

"Then one day, we were all hanging out there, and I saw it. I saw one for the first time. She was old, and her eyes terrified me to the core. We had all run out of there screaming, and we tried our best to forget about it. I couldn't forget though, because after that, it seemed like I was seeing them everywhere. It was like that night had triggered something, and suddenly I was never alone…The night of the fire, we had tried…" Bucky shook his head with a scoff. "We had tried to exorcise the house. It was some stupid thing that we'd found on the internet, and naturally it was a sham. It had only made her angrier. She tried to kill us, and I had tried to set her on fire. It had spread, and before we knew it the entire house was up in flames."

Bucky could feel Steve’s eyes on him as he listened, the ghost of his touch making goosebumps erupt across his exposed skin. Bucky turned his head to face him, watching as Steve did the same.

"Clint ended up in the hospital, still is, actually. I tried to tell my parents the truth, but…"

Bucky didn't need to elaborate on how well that had gone.

"I'm sorry, Bucky," he sincerely said, reaching out towards him again before thinking better of it.

Bucky craned his head to look up at Steve, eyes drinking him in as he loomed over him, a somber expression on his face. He threw Steve a genuine small smile.

"It's okay. I know, now that I'm not crazy, just…special, I guess."

Steve smiled back. “Special doesn’t begin to describe you, Bucky Barnes.” 

* * *

The months that followed were better. There were no more incidents, because, well, Steve was his friend. Bucky knew that any unexplainable noise or occurrence was just Steve, and he had even grown to welcome them as time went on. 

During the nights they would sit side by side on Bucky’s bed, watching movies and tv shows that Bucky enjoyed. Or sometimes they would read comics, listen to music, or just swap stories back and forth. It sure was something listening to someone talk about their childhood during the 1900s when it contrasted so greatly against Bucky’s own. He enjoyed it though, always listening with a smile on his face when Steve slipped into his time period and said words that Bucky would snort at. And vise versa. Sometimes Bucky would be talking and he’d say something that would make Steve cock his head to the side, blue eyes bright with confusion. It was strange but riveting, keeping Bucky entertained for hours when no one else would. 

They rarely ever left each other’s sides, really. During the days Steve would linger behind Bucky like a shadow, following him around with ease but never to where his parents could see. Which, according to Steve, they lacked the gift that Bucky had. They couldn’t see him because they didn’t have the ability like Bucky did. It’s what made Bucky ‘special’, something that Steve was always eager to tell him. 

Life still went on. Now, instead of only getting to talk to his friends once a week, Bucky found that he had someone there constantly, ready to listen, ready to be someone was  _ there  _ and not a figment of his imagination. Of course Bucky still talked to Nat and Brock on the phone, but for some reason, he never told them about Steve.

The last time they'd encountered a spirit, she had been trying to kill them, and something in Bucky told him that they wouldn't understand his newfound friendship. Steve was nice, when he wasn't being a bit of a punk, and really Steve was the closest person that Bucky had ever felt connected to. It didn’t matter that they ‘lived’ together or that they were the same age; something about Steve just felt right. 

Bucky liked him. Perhaps, a little more than he was willing to admit. There was no mistaking that Steve was handsome, and from the stories he told from his day, he had been a real looker with the ladies, going on dates every week and taking women dancing or to the movies. Bucky had been quite… hesitant telling Steve about his own sexuality knowing that it wasn’t exactly accepted back in the day. Saying Bucky was surprised when Steve showed an incredible understanding would have been an understatement and considering how their conversations turned almost flirty immediately afterward was something that Bucky was still getting used to. He liked the attention that Steve gave him-- craved for it more than necessary when he felt too lonely or just wanted those eyes on him. There was so many times when Bucky would catch himself looking at Steve’s skin, wondering what it would feel like to have those hands on him. And Bucky wasn’t entirely sure if it was a good thing. After all, Steve was a spirit that was well over a hundred years old, and he couldn't even leave the house. Besides, Bucky had a boyfriend…

"We've missed you…"

Bucky wrapped his arms around Brock, holding back a sob as his chest ached. As much as he had finally been enjoying his new home, he still missed his friends, Brock especially. It was a shame that Nat couldn't make it, but she had been so worried about Clint that she couldn't bring herself to leave his side. Bucky had told Brock that he understood.

"I've missed you, too," Bucky murmured as he tightened his arms.

"How are you?" he asked, pulling away and brushing a stray hair out of Bucky’s face.

"I'm okay," he answered honestly. "I'm much better these days…"

"I'm glad to hear that," Brock said with a grin just before pressing his lips against Bucky’s own.

Bucky eagerly kissed him back, interlacing his fingers together behind Brock’s neck and relishing in the human contact that he hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever. His parents rarely ever touched him nowadays and it wasn’t like Steve could do it even if he wanted to. 

They only had a short amount of time to spend together because Brock’s family was visiting their cousins and his mom had dropped him off a few minutes prior before taking off. Bucky had always been a part of the Rumlow family, but after the fire, no one really knew how to receive him. Mrs. Rumlow barely trusted him at all anymore, but she trusted her son and knew that no amount of nagging would keep Brock away. Even if she despised it. 

"Allow me to give you the full tour," Bucky said, pulling away and grabbing his hand.

They walked along the impressive old house, laughing and enjoying their time together as Bucky pointed out various rooms and paintings that hung along the wall. For a while, Bucky felt like nothing had changed at all. Him and Brock were laughing at stupid stuff like they always used to, just basking in each other's presence. It seemed like the old days where everything was normal before the spirits had forced their way into Bucky’s life. It had seemed like that, until…

"Fuck!," Brock exclaimed, jumping back and just barely missing the painting that fell.

Bucky frowned, resisting the urge to look around as he inspected his arm.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. That was pretty freaky," Brock chuckled, giving him a questioning look.

"The house is clean, I promise," Bucky lied, glancing around. He didn't see Steve, but Bucky knew he was there. Nearby. Probably watching their every move. For some strange reason, Bucky felt a flash of guilt at that realization. This house was theirs, him and Steve’s, and it was empty, which was when they usually got to be free to do and act however they wanted. Together. 

But now, Brock was invading. Now, Steve was being shoved into the background. 

"That's good to know," Brock breathed. "It must be nice after everything, to get some reprieve from murderous spirits."

"Yeah," he halfheartedly agreed.

"Hey," he said, reaching out and using his hand to cup Bucky’s jaw and turn his head towards him. His brown eyes were so different that what Bucky had been accustomed to now, missing that vibrant blue that seemed to glow at all hours. "My mom will come around, you'll see. Clint will get better, and everything will go back to the way it was."

Bucky looked down with a grimace. Naturally, Brock mistook his mood for worry about everything else. Little did Brock know that the house was most definitely  _ not  _ clean, and a seed of doubt had been planted now. Bucky shook those morbid thoughts away, not even wanting to entertain the idea. Steve was his  _ friend _ .

"How is Clint these days?"

"Better. Much better," he sighed.

"I'm glad to hear that…"

"He asks about you, a lot. He always wants us to make sure that you know that he doesn't blame you," he said, leading Bucky down the stairs.

"I wouldn't blame him if he did, you know," Bucky sadly replied. He was trying to pay attention, but really, his eyes were darting every which way, looking for that familiar shock of blond hair and large frame. 

Brock’s efforts were cut short, however, when Brock brushed his thumb along Bucky’s jaw, a small smile on his lips. "He would never… Just give everything time," Brock assured.

"If I even have time," Bucky scoffed, biting into his bottom lip and rolling her eyes.

Brock frowned, worry in his eyes.

"They aren't talking about sending you away again, are they?"

"They were a few months ago. Everything seems to be quiet, these days, but I still…," Bucky trailed off, shaking his head.

"Bucky," he said, taking Bucky’s face into his hands. "I'll fight them if I have to. You know that, right? You're not crazy, we all know it, and we won't let them send you away."

Bucky nodded, closing his eyes as Brock lowered his head and pecked his lips. He hadn’t had this in a long time, too long, and Bucky quickly melted into the touch, letting himself be pulled against Brock. They found the couch, their lips and hands never leaving one another, and Bucky tried to ignore the feeling of eyes on him, tried to pretend that every hair on his body wasn’t sticking straight up, or that the softest of breathe kept fanning out against the back of his neck. 

Brock’s hands went beneath Bucky’s shirt and Bucky tried to get lost in the touches but the tingles were everywhere, stronger than any feeling he had ever felt with Brock and it was demanding his attention. 

Watching Brock leave left a hollowness settle inside of Bucky’s chest. He was alone, again, but not entirely and as soon as he waved off the car, he spun on his heel and shut the front door, locking out the rest of the world. 

"I know it was you," he said, crossing his arms petulantly across his chest.

"I… I don't like him. I don't trust him," Steve confessed.

Bucky turned around, a look of disbelief on his face as he regarded Steve in all of his spectral glory. There was something different about him. His skin looked tanner. There was even a faint blush on his cheeks, which was something Bucky hadn’t seen before, not on Steve. His hair was different too, darker but still blond, more defined than usual. And his eyes… there was something hard in them. 

"So you tried to hurt him? Brock is my boyfriend, Steve. I thought we were friends," Bucky said, knowing the vulnerability was written all across his face. There was no hiding that he felt betrayed. Steve had seriously tried to hurt Brock. 

Steve’s jaw clenched, an unfamiliar look briefly flashing across his eyes. It was gone before Bucky could even really process what he'd seen.

"We are," Steve desperately spoke up through clenched teeth.

"Friends don't intentionally hurt one another, and hurting him hurts me," Bucky reiterated.

"I'm sorry," was all Steve said, the words coming out like a whisper.

Bucky heaved a sigh, unsure of how to respond, and instead settled for walking through Steve instead. 

* * *

Steve’s behavior from that day forward only got worse. At first, it was just small accidents. Bucky’s mom nicking her finger while chopping onions, his dad almost tripping over the table and then cutting himself while shaving. The final straw was when his mom had "fallen" down the stairs one day, resulting in a hospital visit. She'd had to stay overnight, and Bucky’s dad had opted to be the one to stay with her.

As soon as Bucky had entered the house, he was rounding on Steve.

"What are you doing? What is wrong with you?" Bucky cried, shaking his head incredulously because this was his Steve and Steve was-- he wasn’t acting right. .

Steve looked angry, a look that Bucky had never seen on him before in all of the time that he knew him. It was a look that terrified him, a first for him since he'd met Steve.

"They're talking about sending you away again," Steve hissed, eyes hard.

Bucky’s lips parted as he searched for something to say.  _ No _ . He was doing better, and they had longed dropped the notion, and he'd told Steve so.

"They're fooling you! When you're asleep, they talk about it for hours. They stay up, researching and calling around, trying to find the 'best facility for someone like you'."

Bucky reared back, a feeling of betrayal settling in his gut.

"No," he whispered.

"Yes!"

"Th-that can't be…," he suddenly shook his head. "Even if that is true, Steve, that doesn't give you the right to hurt them. You almost killed her!"

"I should have," he fumed.

There was a silence that followed, one in which Bucky stared at him in horror. Steve suddenly blinked, hesitantly reaching out and stepping towards him. Bucky staggered back, more afraid than he'd ever been in his life.

"Bucky...," he murmured.

"…what?"

"I didn't- I didn't mean that. They're going to take you away. You don't deserve that. You're happy here, aren't you? With me?" Steve pleaded, eyes boring into Bucky’s own, desperate.

Bucky didn't answer, sliding his feet backwards and still shaking his head. He could feel himself vibrating, fear and sadness and so much more grabbing ahold of him. 

"I just… It isn't right, the way they treat you," he further explained. Steve kept moving closer. Bucky kept moving back. 

Steve suddenly stopped. His jaw went tight. At his sides, Steve’s hands clenched into fists. 

“Don’t,” he warned, making Bucky freeze up as the growl registered in his ears. Steve had never talked to him like this either. Bucky was starting to think that maybe he didn’t really know who Steve was at all. 

And that thought terrified him. 

“Don’t back away from me, Bucky,” Steve tilted his head ever so subtly that it made him loom even more over Bucky. Their eyes were locked and loaded; a frightening game of cat and mouse. One wrong move and someone was going to get hurt. 

For one long, agonizingly painful moment, they stood across from each other, silently staring. Bucky stood in fear; Steve in dominance. 

Bucky swallows once, suddenly finding the courage and trying to spin on his heel out the door. 

He takes one step when suddenly he’s met with a strong blast of cold air and everything goes black. 

* * *

When Bucky woke up, he had to blink away the splotches in his vision, shaking his head as he felt the fuzz go away. He felt cold, too cold, and when he looked down and found himself above his blankets, it’s no surprise that he lacks the usual warmth. He doesn’t remember falling asleep but really he doesn’t remember much after Steve told him about what his parents discuss at night, behind his back. 

And suddenly, Bucky isn’t cold anymore. He feels anger fuel through him and before he can second guess himself, he rolls from his bed and marches straight to his parents room. 

He flings the door open and finds them both lounging in bed, completely startled to see him bursting in. His dad puts the tablet down just as his mom drops a stack full of papers. Bucky sees the flash of the cover page and the realization settles harshly in his gut as he reads Greystone Park Psychiatric Hospital. So Steve was right. 

Steve had tried to warn him. 

"When were you going to tell me?" Bucky bellowed.

His mom scrambles to hide the papers but it’s too late and she knows it too. "Nothing has been finalized yet, Bucky. We were only discussing it," his mom tried to placate.

"Son, this is for your own good," his father assured. “We’re trying to help you.”

Bucky shook his head and when he turns his head, Steve is suddenly there and their eyes connect. Steve’s leaning against the wall behind them, watching the entire scene unfold. He has a look of regret on his face, as if he didn't want Bucky to have to go through any of this, as if he had brought this on. The look confuses Bucky but seeing his parents in front of him, staring like he’s losing it again, Bucky crumbles. Once the tears start, they don’t stop. 

"I don't understand," he tearfully mumbled. "I'm  _ better _ . You've seen that I'm better."

"We found the empty bottle under your sink, Bucky. We know that you couldn't have taken them all so quickly," his mom confessed. So much pity in her eyes, so much sadness. 

Bucky sobs, wrapping his arms around himself and finally accepting that this was really happening. They were sending him away. He would be monitored 24/7 like some child, being fed pills daily. Bucky turned away from them, taking the stairs two at a time as he made his way towards his room. He slammed the door shut and locked it, dragging his dresser in front of it for good measure. 

He threw himself in the farthest corner of his room and curled in on himself, hugging his knees close to his chest as he buried his head in them and sobbed. 

He felt Steve before he saw him. His hairs stood up and when he turned his head slightly to the side, Steve’s blue eyes were watching him. Steve was sitting beside him and their sides were touching but not, and never has Bucky wished so desperately that he could reach out and touch Steve-- to pull him close and embrace him. 

"I'm sorry, Bucky," Steve said, speaking so softly beside him. 

"I have to call Brock," he murmured, fumbling for his phone.

Steve straightened up immediately, eyebrows furrowed. "Why… what for?"

"He… he needs to know. They all do," he said. He was scrambling for anything now, more than desperate. He couldn’t be sent away, not now, not when he wasn’t fucking crazy. 

" _ I _ can fix this," Steve assured.

Bucky scoffed, glancing up at him with sad, defeated eyes.

"What could you possibly do, Steve? You're stuck here…"

Steve frowned. He lifted his hand as if to touch Bucky’s knee, but instead of dropping it through Bucky’s flesh, Steve let it hover there. “But what if… what if I wasn’t? What if we were both free to do and go anywhere we wanted? No hospitals, no parents, no house keeping me here. What then?”

Bucky let a sad smile drift onto his face, thinking of all the possibilities that could mean. Sure him and Steve have had their share of problems, both separately and regarding one another, but Bucky still considers Steve a friend. And if Steve can pretend just for this one moment, then so can Bucky. “Then we would live the best lives. We could be truly happy, nothing stupid getting in our way. We would be  _ invincible _ .” He lets himself get caught away in the daydream, giggling like a schoolboy at the thought. His phone goes forgotten.

It doesn’t take long until Steve joins in. They both sit there in the corner, laughing like they truly have lost it and Bucky knows his parents probably hear it, but he doesn’t give a damn. Not anymore, at least. His fate is already sealed. He can act however he wants now, not having to walk on eggshells anymore. 

“To the end of the line?” Steve asks when they finally settle. 

Bucky smiles. “Sure, Steve. To the end of the line.”

* * *

The next night, Bucky awoke to the smell of smoke filling his nose. He sat up with a gasp, looking around for the fire when he could hear screams coming from down the hall. With a bone chilling panic, he threw the covers off of himself, running out of his room and towards his parents’, unsure of what awaited him.

The hall was already filled with dark smoke, burning his eyes. He quickly brought his t-shirt up to cover his nose and mouth, trying to shield as much smoke from entering his lungs as possible. 

There was too much though. 

Bucky coughed, spinning around, fighting to right himself and locate his parents' room. He sprinted inside, stumbling to a halt as a horrified cry left his lips. Steve stood next to their bed. His blue eyes were bright in the smoke and he was watching every second of Bucky’s parents burning. 

Bucky’s vision swam.

"S-Steve!"

His blond head snapped up and looked at Bucky with wide eyes, slowly walking around the bed as Steve attempted to approach him. He could barely see with the tears in his eyes and the longer he stayed with his feet glued to the floor, the more his lungs constricted and made each breath harder to take in. He felt dizzy too… too dizzy to fully comprehend what was happening. He just knew he needed to get out of here. 

"Bucky… calm down," Steve slowly advised, walking through the flames like they weren’t really there, like they weren’t turning Bucky’s parents to ash.

Bucky’s back hit the wall as he tripped over his own feet. 

"Steve!," he screamed but it was cut short as his body wracked itself with a violent coughing fit. He slid lower to the ground. His left hand was stretched upward as he tried to fumble for the door. Just as he got ahold of it, trying to pull it open, it was suddenly yanked shut. 

"Bucky, I’m here.  _ Shh _ , I’m here," Steve whispered. He was leaned up against the door, his own hand curved around the doorknob while the other hovered near Bucky’s face. “Look what I’ve done-- for  _ us _ . Aren’t you happy?”

“St--ve,” Bucky gasped. “Hel--” he couldn’t make it through one word without being overcome with coughs, his body jerking in desperation for oxygen. “Help-p m-me, S-Ste-ve!”

Steve lowered himself down but never once letting his hand leave the doorknob. “I am helping you. They were going to take you away from me. We’d never see each other again,” he whispered, blue eyes wide. 

“Wh--” Bucky gasped. His own eyes were wide now as the confusion began to clear. Even if the pace was slow, he understood now. Steve had done this. He did all of this. 

Bucky felt the harsh choke of a sob escaped his throat and he turned onto his stomach, scratching and pulling at the door. In his desperation, his hand that held his t-shirt let go and began to fumble for the knob, doing anything he could to get it open. 

But it still wouldn’t budge and when he glanced upward, he found that Steve was fully throwing his weight against it. Forcing it to stay shut. 

"You're my only friend. You're the only one who's been able to see me, talk to me! I love you, Bucky," Steve whispered, his own voice desperate as he leaned over him.

"L-L-Let m-e ou-t-t," Bucky gasped. It was so weak.  _ He  _ was weak and it took every last ounce of energy to keep his eyes open. “Steve, p-pl…  _ please _ .”

Bucky’s hand dropped heavily onto the ground. His head followed next, turning on it’s side and watching as Steve slid down. The blond kept moving until he laid flat right beside Bucky, their eyes lined up together. 

“Fall asleep, Bucky,” he whispered, gently like he was cooing a baby. “When you wake, we’ll be together. We’ll be able to touch, and feel, and be with one another at all times. We can go anywhere we want-- do whatever we want. Go to sleep and you’ll have heaven.”

Bucky wanted to move. His mind was screaming at him to run and to get out of here but he couldn’t. His body felt too heavy and it took too much effort to  _ think _ . All he could do was watch Steve, looking as handsome as ever with a somber expression on his face.

“I’m… gon-na… d-die… here, S-St--”

Steve reached out, hand going through Bucky’s cheek, and he softly nodded his head. "Yes…but you'll be with me."

Bucky felt a fresh tear spill down his cheek. This was it. He knew it. His breath was too faint. The fire around them was making him too sleepy. He didn’t feel hot, he felt cold. When his eyes lazily drifted down his arm, he found his hairs sticking straight up. 

Steve reached out again, his fingers hovering over Bucky’s lips. Bucky’s chest was too tight, fear pumping through his veins. He didn’t want to die. 

"I won't let you die alone, Bucky, not like I did."

Bucky tried to beg.  _ Please, please, please _ , but no words came from his mouth. His vision was starting to tunnel, going black on all sides.

"Without this house, we’ll be free. You will die loved,” Steve gave him a soft smile. It made Bucky blink, long and heavy. “Sleep, Bucky.”

Bucky never bothered reopening his eyes. Sleep sounded like a good thing. 

* * *

Bucky lurched forward, his eyes wide open as his lungs greedily sucked in fresh air. He was in his backyard, sitting on a soft turf of grass, and he could hear birds chirping, could feel the sun on his skin. 

But… he could also smell the fresh smell of smoak, something heavy and too familiar that it had Bucky’s gut clenching painfully. His fingers dug into the grass, trying to give himself leverage as he moved to push himself up. Bucky’s knees buckled beneath him at his first try but when he went to try again, suddenly there was a hand grasping his shoulder and gently picking him up. 

Then, he was tugged around. 

And there was Steve. Steve who was glowing tan and had hair that was shining beneath the sun, blue eyes just as alive as the sky. Steve who was smiling at him so large that Bucky couldn’t help but smile back. Steve who was  _ holding  _ him. 

It took a second for Bucky’s brain to click as he turned his confused gaze onto Steve’s arms and hands that were gripping both of Bucky’s shoulders. 

_ What _ ? 

When Bucky picked his head back up to look at Steve, that was when he became aware of something  _ more _ . Something that had Bucky’s lips parting and his eyes blowing wide. 

Behind Steve there was a large cloud of black smoke that was billowing high into the sky. His house-- or what was left of it, was black and charred and nothing more than a pile of ruble against the green grass. It was pure destruction. 

Then he remembered. 

Bucky sucked in a sharp breath. He tried to step forward, to help, to find his parents--  _ oh god, his parents _ \-- but suddenly Steve’s grip was hard and it pinned Bucky in his place. 

“Our heaven,” Steve whispered. “‘Til the end of the line, remember?”

Bucky tried to say something,  _ anything _ , but his mind was scrambled and he was too in shock to find the words to say. Instead, he whimpered in Steve’s hold. His body trembling. 

Steve’s hands drifted up to find the sides of Bucky’s face. His fingertips were spread wide as if he were trying to feel as much of Bucky’s skin as possible. Steve tugged Bucky’s head straight, pulling Bucky’s eyes away from the demolition behind him and forcing their eyes to lock. “I love you, Bucky,” he whispered. “With everything that I am. Now, even death can’t separate us.” 

Bucky felt his chin wobble, felt the tears start to creep in. 

Steve pretended they weren’t there and instead, pulled Bucky’s body into his own and kissed him. 

To Bucky, their heaven smelled oddly like hell. The low crackling of the fire was a strong indicator too and as it kept going, kept feeding from Bucky’s house and his parents, so did their kiss. It lasted forever and ever and ever until the end of eternity. 

Until the end of the line. It just happened that  _ their  _ line had no ending. 


End file.
